


Roger: The Better Story

by ScantiBelze



Category: Doug (Cartoon)
Genre: Coming of Age, Drama, F/F, F/M, Growing Up, High School, Humor, M/M, Misogyny, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, No betas (we die like men!), Poverty, Teen Angst, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenage Rebellion, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScantiBelze/pseuds/ScantiBelze
Summary: After losing his riches over the summer, Roger Klotz comes to high school with a less-than-enthusiastic attitude, a plague of rumors and mockery, and an empty stomach. Determined to look out for himself, he's completely unprepared for his first love. New chapters update every week.
Relationships: Chalky Studebaker/Original Character(s), Doug Funnie/Patti Mayonnaise, Roger Klotz/Original Character(s), Skeeter Valentine/Original Character(s)





	1. Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> "Doug" and all its original characters and locations are owned by Jim Jinkins and Disney.

Stinky was startled by the sound of banging against the trailer wall. With a shriek and a wild jump, she clung to Roger’s sleeping face with her claws.  
That’s how Roger woke up.  
“What the hell? Stinky, get off!” He crashed to the floor, shaking the dresser, and knocking off whatever was on top.  
Meanwhile, Edwina stomped down the hall, throwing on her robe, to open the front door. “What is the meaning of this?” she cried at the policeman knocking the side of the trailer with his nightstick.  
“Ma’am, you’re gonna have to move this trailer,” he replied.  
“Since when?”  
“Since this became a non-loitering public area.” He pointed at a “No Loitering” sign by the nearby picnic tables. The public park was misty and empty that early in the morning; the sun was barely rising above the grand entrance archway.  
“Yeah, a public area,” growled Edwina.  
“I should give you a ticket,” the cop said. “Do you want another ticket, Klotz?”  
“No, Ferdinand.”  
“Officer Ferdinand, if you would.”  
Edwina groaned and called into the trailer, “Roger, get your pants, we’re moving!”  
“Goddamnit!”  
“Watch your language!” Edwina grabbed a pair of keys off the kitchen counter and stepped out of the trailer. She glared at the officer. “I’m moving!”  
The officer took a single step out of the way, but stayed, watching. Edwina grumbled.  
The trailer was hitched to a monster truck. Deep rivets in the dirt and crushed shrubery traced the path of going through the gate and backing the trailer into the trees just off the picnic clearing.  
Roger jumped out of the trailer, pants in hand and Stinky on his head. His boxers have his own likeness printed on them. They were also too small and had holes along the hem.  
The boy was several inches taller and one layer of muscle wider than the police officer. This gave him the gaul to snarl, “Morning. Ferdinand.”  
“Roger.” The officer put his nightstick away and stood at attention, with squared shoulders and fixed stance. “Today’s the first day of school.”  
“Yeah,” sniffed Roger. “So?”  
“So,” said Ferdinand. “I hope you plan on showing up.”  
The monster truck’s engine revved on.  
Roger spat, headed to the passenger seat. “I’ll think about it.”  
“I’ll be watching for you,” the cop called after him. “Stay out of trouble today.”  
Spitting again, Roger jumped into the truck through the window, pants waving like a flag in his hand.  
Edwina drives off, weaving between the tables.  
“Aw,” said Roger. “You should’ve crushed them.”  
“I don’t need that kind of bill,” sighed Edwina. “I’ve got enough tickets to pay.”  
“Where’re we gonna park now?” asked Roger.  
“I don’t know.” Edwina was tired.  
Roger’s growling stomach filled the cabin. “Can we at least stop and eat?”  
Edwina bit her bottom lip and blinked back tears. “No, son. I’m sorry.”  
Roger blinked, shrugged, then yawned. “Whatever.” He and Stinky fell back to sleep.  
Edwina sighed again.

***

The school loomed--well, “loomed” is a strong word. Edwina’s monster truck was almost at eye-level with the whole first floor.  
“Could you just drop me off here,” Roger asked, slumping.  
“Sure thing, sweetie.” Edwina said. “Listen, I know things are going to be hard this year…”  
“No shit.”  
“But you have good friends. And focusing on your studies--”  
“--will help me make money again,” Roger recited alongside his mother. “Yeah yeah yeah, I know.”  
Edwina kissed him on the forehead.  
“Ugh, Mom!”  
“Will you be alright till lunch?”  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
“That’s the spirit. I work today, so we’ll have money for dinner. Okay? There’s always a silver lining.”  
Roger jumped out through the window. “Fine.”  
“Stay out of trouble today!”  
Roger sloughed through the parking lot, full of stares and whispers. On his way up to the door, he kicked over a rock and some guy on a skateboard. More peers shuffled through the entry; he shoulder checked a path straight through them. It didn’t take long for the freshmen to move out of the way.  
Bobby Bodingo went nose-first into his locker.  
“Hey!”  
Roger turned, smiling, willfully allowing hunger pains and fatigue to control his actions.  
“Hey, fatty,” he chimed, clutching Bodingo’s shirt by its shoulder. “Hey, buddy, old pal.”  
Bobby, with a bloody nose, just noticed how large Roger had gotten. In height, and build.  
Overweight Bobby started to lift off the ground; Roger’s smile didn't wane.  
“What’s jiggling? How was your summer? Fun, I trust? Full of junk food?” He flipped Bobby upside-down. All of the belongings came tumbling from his backpack. This pleased Roger very much. “Yes! Jackpot!”  
He grabbed two bags of nacho chips, a sandwich, and a can of soda.  
Nearby students started to walk away, as if nothing was going on. Anyone walking by turned their heads.  
“C’mon, Roger!” cried Bobby.  
Roger scarfed down a bag of chips.  
A whistle cut through the hallway that made everyone grab their ears and cry out.  
“Not so fast, young man!”  
It was a voice that haunted Roger’s nightmares. The voice of a man Roger thought he had left behind forever. But that day, that moment, it was, indeed, Mr. Bone who sauntered down the hall. His obscenely high pants and outdated glasses matched his afro to the picture of authority Roger would always dread.  
Roger emitted a high-pitched shrill of terror, turned heel, and ran. Stolen lunch in his hands, he darted down the only available direction.  
“I said not so fast!” the terrifying twang echoed down the monochromatic hallway.  
Darting between kids, Roger made a sharp right, only to run right into Bone. Bobby stood behind the principal, triumphant.  
Roger screamed again.  
“Ah-ha!” cried Bone. “No one knows this school better than I do. Meet your new Bluffington High School principal, and say, ‘Welcome back’ to your old worst nightmare!”  
It was too real for Roger’s liking. “But how?” his voice cracked. “Who the fuck keeps promoting you?”  
“Now that language,” said Mr. Bone. “Gets you an extra day of In-School Suspension, Mr. Klotz. Both of you,” he turned to Bobby. “Get one solid week for fighting!”  
“What?” Bobby shouted in disbelief. “But he hit me!”  
“We have a zero-tolerance policy,” explained Mr. Bone. “All those involved in a fight will be sentenced to In-School Suspension. No exceptions.”  
“But my nose--”  
“I said no exceptions! Now get to class! You’ll both report to Seargant Carfield right after school.”  
“Seargant Carfield?” Roger raised an eyebrow.  
Mr. Bone smiled. “He oversees our disciplinary program here at Bluffington High.”  
“Oh. Great.”  
“I think he’ll teach you how to make better choices, Mr. Klotz. Mr. Bodingo.”  
“But, but I was just--” Bobby sounded like he was going to cry. “I’m the one who got mugged!”  
Mr. Bone gave the bags of chips, sandwich, and soda back to Bobby. “Have a good rest of the day, boys.” He sauntered proudly down the hall.  
Roger groaned. “Great. Just what I need.”  
“It’s what you need, not--”  
Roger uppercut Bobby in the gut and knocked the wind out of him. He fell to the ground, wheezing, choked by tears, and helplessly watched Roger swipe back his lunch.  
Leaving Bodingo crumpled on the ground, Roger took his locker number assignment out of his pocket. “I don’t even know where the hell I am.”


	2. The Right Place

Roger looked up, and saw that he was in a hallway colored completely purple, with “E” written along the ceiling.  
Looking down at his paper, he needed to find locker H39. Since he was in hallway E, Roger assumed he needed to go west.  
However, the next hallway was marked C. Turning tail, he went east. The next hallway in that direction was marked T.  
“What the hell?” Roger’s hollow stomach shook and gurgled.  
“Excuse me!” The cry was followed by a sharp, pointed bump, as if from an elbow.  
Roger nearly dropped his chips.  
“Hey!” He turned, so ready to fight.  
But the sight of a curvy goth girl stopped him short. She glided through the crowd, oblivious on her headphones, hips swinging in a gray plaid skirt. Chains glittered and jingled, fishnet tights hugged her legs down to her knee-high boots. But her lilac skin, and long, wavy hair of turquoise and teal, stood her out from the crowd.  
Boys and girls all through the hall stared as she passed, dropping things and walking into each other. Some were miffed and glared after her. Everyone else either whispered or whistled.  
Roger followed her.  
She went down a red hallway, marked F, approached a locker, looked at the numbers on her paper, and found hers on the bottom row. She crouched down, put her backpack on the floor, and started getting her books out.  
Roger leaned against the locker next to hers and watched her sizable cleavage. He could hear the heavy metal music cranked up in her headphones.  
“Hey, Roger.”  
The all-too familiar voice made Roger turn. “Hey, Ned.”  
His pink friend had grown even taller than him over the summer. But Ned’s boney limbs stuck out of his oversized hand-me-downs like scarecrow sticks. It made his dark pink afro seem almost comical, especially with the notable part cutting down its side.  
Immediately after they acknowledged each other, both boys got distracted by the pretty girl. As she leaned forward to put books in her locker, her skirt hem rose just enough to reveal the top of her thigh-highs.  
“Oh,” Roger squeaked. He leaned to get a better look.  
“Nice,” whispered Ned.  
The girl looked up at them and growled, “Do you mind?”  
“No,” said Roger, cocking an eyebrow. “Not at all.”  
She slammed her locker shut, put a gargoyle-shaped lock on the door, and walked away with an indignant flip of her long hair.  
“Nice talking to you,” called Roger. “See you in class!”  
She flipped the rude finger over her shoulder without looking back.  
“God she’s so my type,” chuckled Roger.  
“Mine too,” sighed Ned. He opened the top locker they were leaning on.  
Roger blinked. “That’s your locker?”  
“Yeah,” beamed Ned. “Doesn’t it rock? I’ll get to see her every day.”  
Roger put his arm around his friend, waving the H-hall locker assignment. “Or, you could trade lockers with me.”  
Ned shook off Roger’s arm. “No way, man!”  
“C’mon,” implored Roger. “My locker’s got way hotter girls around it.”  
“So you keep it,” cried Ned. “I want this locker.”  
“See,” explained Roger. “My locker’s got hotter girls around, but this girl--she means something to me.”  
“Oh really? What’s her name?”  
“I--I don’t know. But I’ll find out.”  
“Or I’ll find out. Since, you know, I’ll be seeing her every day.” Ned shut his newly-filled locker and put a rusty padlock on the door.  
“Dude,” Roger shook his head. “I thought we were friends.”  
“We are,” Ned assured him. “So when she’s my girlfriend, I’ll let her talk to you. Sometimes.”  
“Asshole!”  
“See you later, Rog.” Ned walked away to class.  
“Dammit!” Roger darted down the hallway in the direction the girl went. He turned a corner and caught sight of her entering a classroom.  
Skeeter held the door open for her, staring with dreamy eyes.  
“Thanks,” she said absently, paying more attention to her portable CD player.  
“No problem,” Skeeter assured her. “No problem at all. Anytime. Every day, even!” He noticed Roger and frowned. “Um, can I help you?”  
“Yeah,” Roger answered without looking at him. “You can keep holding that door open.”  
Skeeter shut it in time to hit Roger’s nose.  
“Ow!” Roger grabbed Skeeter’s shirt collar. “What’s the big idea, Valentine?”  
Having gone through a summer growth spurt himself, 6-foot Skeeter was unperturbed by Roger’s intimidation. Instead, he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes just as menacingly. “This isn’t your class, Roger.”  
“How would you know?” Roger put on a withering, suffering voice. “I’ve been getting lost all day--”  
“Good,” interrupted Skeeter. “You can just keep on doing that.”  
Roger balled his fists. Skeeter stepped closer to him. The two snarled at each other nose-to-nose.  
“You know what?” Roger decided. “You’re not worth it, Mosquito.” He opened the class door himself and entered the room.  
The girl sat at the second desk from the left, in the second row. Roger scanned the room, walked from desk to desk, keeping her in his sights. He found a seat diagonal from hers, in a position where he can see her from behind, to the side, and get a front profile.  
He bent to sit down, only to bonk heads with Chalky Studebaker.  
“Ow,” cried Roger. “Watch it, Studebaker!”  
“Me?” countered Chalky incredulously. “What are you even doing here?”  
“Coming to class,” Roger rolled his eyes. “Duh.”  
Chalky chuckled. “This isn’t your class, dude.”  
“How do you know?”  
“Because I know. It isn’t.”  
“Nope,” concurred Patti Mayonnaise from the desk behind them.  
“It’s not!” agreed Skeeter, taking a desk next to Patti.  
“I believe,” piped in Elmo a few desks back. “You’re looking for one of the classes in yellow hall.”  
“Or green,” Brian told him. “Also has the general classes.”  
“I,” sniffled Roger. “Do not appreciate this attack on my character. I think I know my own schedule.”  
“I think you don’t,” said Patti.  
“So move,” snapped Chalky.  
Roger looked over at the goth girl. She leaned down to get something from her backpack, and her thong peeked out over her skirt.  
“No,” objected Roger. “I like this seat.”  
He looked at Chalky, and caught him staring at the same thong, practically drooling. Roger gave his shoulder a shove. “So move it!”  
“Hey,” retorted Chalky. “I actually belong in this class, and I really want to sit here.”  
“Guys,” Patti rubbed her forehead. “This room is full of empty desks. Why are you fighting over this one? Guys?”  
She looked at Roger and Chalky, forgetting their fight to watch the goth girl tuck her underwear back down and open a novel.  
“Oh, for crying out loud! Help me out here, Skeeter.” Patti looked at her friend and saw him swooning too. “Ugh. Never mind.”  
The teacher, Mr. Mayonnaise, entered the room and closed the door. Roger plopped down in the desk so swiftly, Chalky had no choice but to frown and settle for the next desk over.  
“Good morning, class,” he said crisply and professionally. “Welcome to AP History. I’m Mr. Mayonaisse. Let’s start with role call. Mosquito Valentine?”  
“Here!” honked Skeeter.  
“Elmo? Elmo, uh…”  
“Just Elmo is fine,” the student assured Mr. Mayonnaise.  
“Thank you,” the teacher said, relieved. “Brian Ferguson?”  
“Present,” said Brian.  
“Chalky Studebaker?” Mr. Mayonaisse looked around. “Chalky Studebaker?”  
Chalky was busy staring at the gorgeous goth. When she turned to look at him, he gave a sweet little wave.  
“Mister Studebaker?” Mr. Mayonaisse called over classroom snickers. “Are you with us today, sir?”  
“Huh?” Chalky noticed everyone chuckling and looked up. “Oh, yes! Sorry, present!” He hid his blushing face in a book.  
“Sabrina Miércoles?”  
“Here,” said the beauty.  
“Did I say your last name correctly?” asked Mr. Mayonaisse.  
“Yes,” grinned Sabrina. “Thank you.”  
“Sabrina,” repeated Roger under his breath. “Sabrina Miércoles.”  
At that moment, Mr. Mayonaisse locked eyes with him. “Roger Klotz?” He cocked an eyebrow and checked his paper.  
“Good morning, Mister Mayonnaise,” blabbed Roger in a sappy sweet voice. “I didn’t know you taught at Bluffington High.”  
“This is my first year,” Mayonnaise answered. “I’m the new head of the AP program.”  
“That’s great,” replied Roger. “Alcoholism is a disgusting disease, especially amongst our youth.”  
Everyone in the room laughed, including Sabrina. Roger frowned and turned bright red.  
Mr. Mayonnaise tried to mask his own chuckle with a cough. “Um, no, Roger, AP stands for ‘Advanced Placement.’”  
“Advanced what now?”  
This made everyone laugh more. Some whispered to their friends, staring. Patti openly facepalmed.  
“‘Advanced Placement,’” Mr. Mayonnaise explained. “Are advanced classes designed to place students directly into the Early College Program.”  
“Early College? Pfft, who would want to go through that?”  
Everyone in the room raised their hands.  
Mr. Mayonnaise went up to Roger’s desk. “Well, you are certainly not on my list. Where’s your schedule?”  
“Um,” Roger dug in his pockets. His jacket, jeans, socks, he checked everywhere. “Um, I had it, I had it here somewhere.”  
The giggling and whispering around him got louder. He could feel Sabrina’s big, pretty eyes on him and it made his skin burn.  
“Go to the office.” Mr. Mayonnaise went back to his desk and wrote a note. “Have Miss Burns print up your schedule for you.”  
“Okay.” Roger sheepishly stood and made his way to the front of the room.  
Chalky immediately took back his desk and beamed over at Sabrina, who blushed and smiled back.  
Roger snarled.  
Mr. Mayonnaise gave him the note. “Do you know how to get to the office?”  
“Yes,” groaned Roger.  
“Well, just in case,” said Mr. Mayonnaise. “Go to the end of the hall and take this staircase up to the second floor. Count three hallways before you make a right down the yellow hall. There’s more than one yellow hall, so that’s important. Three halls, then make a right, and the office will be the fifth door on your left.”  
“Okay, fine.” Roger couldn’t get out of the classroom fast enough. He compulsively looked back at the girl of his dreams, who seemed more interested in whispering to Skeeter and Patti.  
Roger sighed, then left.  
He started down the hall. But instead of going up the stairs, he went the opposite direction towards a door to the outside.


	3. Troubled Youth

A courtyard stretched before him. Picnic tables sat on areas of concrete, with a massive fountain decorating the middle. Tall shrubs encased the whole thing. Deserted, Roger peeked through the shrubs to make sure they were thick enough to not see through.  
“Perfect.” He took a pack of cigarettes and lighter out of his sock and found an unassuming spot in the corner.  
“Oh.” He pulled his schedule, folded up tiny, out of his cigarette pack. “That’s right, duh.” Roger lit up, leaned against the building, and took a long, sweet drag. “Sabrina Miércoles.” The name seemed to write itself in the smoke. “What a sexy name!”  
Suddenly, the shrubs rustled. A massive bodybuilder woman in short shorts and a school hoodie reading “COACH” barrelled through.  
“I smell troubled youth!” she cried. Seeing Roger, she blew the whistle around her neck.  
“Ah!” Roger screamed and covered his ears. “What is it with whistles at this damn school?”  
The coach snatched the cigarette out of his hand and crushed the whole thing, fully lit, between two fingers.  
“Hey!” cried Roger. He stomped closer. Truly noticing her face, its round shape with red eyes and shiny, yellow braids, he gasped. He knew this woman: In another costume, in a sparkling two-piece matching her copper skin, standing in the middle of a wrestling ring, men unconscious around her.  
Roger actually fell to his knees. “P-P-P-P--” he can barely find his voice. When it finally came out, it was reduced to a respected squeak. “P-Pretty Penny?”  
The coach stood up straight, easily taller than six feet. She puffed up her biceps and gave them a kiss, her classic ring entry pose.  
“You a fan?” she asked with a wink.  
“Boy, am I!” gushed Roger, standing up. “Wrestlefest Number Twenty! The way you put every guy to sleep before just tossing them, one-by-one, out of the ring? Except Clyde and Baker, you lifted both those guys at the same time! And threw them so hard they hit the LED screen!”  
Coach Penny chuckled. “You forgot the Murray Brothers.”  
“How could I? Triplets, all grabbed by the ankles, spun and tossed out at the same time? I mean, how do you do it? Those guys weigh, like, three hundred each! And you’re a chick!”  
“I’m a bodybuilder,” corrected Coach Penny. “And I can lift a ton of pansy any day of the week, thank you very much.”  
“So you work here since your neck injury?”  
“That’s right. Came back to my hometown, vowed to spend my days cleaning up the troubled youth.” She leered in, face suddenly somber. “Like you.”  
“Hey, I ain’t troubled,” protested Roger. “I’m coping just fine, thank you.”  
“Just fine with cancer sticks?” She held out her hand. “Hand ‘em over.”  
“Uh, that was my last one.”  
Coach Penny got an inch away from his face. “Do I have to pick you up by your ankles?”  
Roger gave her his pack.  
“Where are you supposed to be right now?”  
“Uh, I have to check my schedule.”  
“Where is it?”  
He pointed to the pack of cigarettes.  
“Ugh, gosh.” As if she were sticking her hand in a septic tank, Coach Penny recoiled and gagged while yanking out the folded-up schedule. She crushed the rest of the pack into powdered leaves and crumpled paper.  
She opened the schedule. “Well, well, looks like you’re supposed to be in my class.” She stared down at Roger with an ear-to-ear grin. “Amazing, how serendipity works.”  
Roger gulped. “Yeah. Amazing.”  
Out of her hoodie pocket, Coach Penny pulled her attendance list. “Roger Klotz?”  
“Present. Uh, ma’am.”  
She marked her sheet. “Excellent. We’ve still got time left, come with me.”  
She led him through the shrubs, down the hill, and to the football field. Students were gathered about the bleachers, clear bags of gym clothes in their hands.  
Coach Penny pointed to a cardboard box. “Pick your size, Klotz,” she instructed. “And join the others.”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
The coach stood before the class and cleared her throat. Everyone immediately fell silent.  
“Excellent. Now that I got all my little sheep, let me start over. This won’t take long, if y’all keep your mouths shut.”  
Everyone complied.  
“Now,” continued Coach Penny. “Every morning, you will change, and be out here within two minutes of the bell. I don’t want to have to tell you to start stretching. Stretching is imperative before each and every physical activity, and we will be doing physical activity. Is that clearly understood?”  
“Yes Coach!”  
Roger scoffed as the rest of the class answered in unison.  
Coach cleared her throat and shouted, “I said, is that clearly understood?”  
“Ma’am, yes ma’am!”  
“I don’t want to have to tell you how to show respect neither,” she lectured. “‘Ma’am yes ma’am, ma’am no ma’am,’ I will also accept ‘Coach’ instead of ‘ma’am.’ That is my title, is that clearly understood?”  
“Yes Coach!”  
“Every morning, two minutes after the bell, you will be out here, stretching. Then we will walk the track. Then we will run the track. Then we will play a sport of my choosing. Anyone slow or late will play while wearing leg weights. Is that clearly understood?”  
“Ma’am yes ma’am” mixed with “Yes Coach!”  
Roger said neither. He put his fingers to his mouth, forgetting there was no cigarette.  
Coach Penny smiled.  
“Do well, and you may enjoy the privilege of being team captain, or holding dominion over struggling students. If you don’t do well, you may be told what to do by someone your age. Is that clearly understood?”  
“Ma’am yes ma’am!”  
“Yes Coach!”  
Roger yawned.  
The bell rang.  
“Class dismissed!”  
Everyone rushed off the bleachers.  
“Klotz?”  
Roger turned.  
Coach Penny gave him his schedule. “You go to science next.”  
“Thanks, Coach.”  
He turned to leave, but Coach put a hand on his shoulder.  
“You going to science next?” she asked. “Or do I need to walk you?”  
“I’m going,” assured Roger. “I’m going!”  
“I’ll be checking in with Miss Ratchett,” promised Coach Penny. “Is that--”  
“Yes,” interrupted Roger, walking away. “Ma’am! That is clearly understood! Jesus!”  
She watched him until he was fully in the building.


	4. Not So Smart

Apparently, there was a map of the school on the back of the schedule, so Roger followed it to his science class.  
He stepped through the door and saw Sabrina.  
He checked his schedule, then the number on the door. They matched, as did the displayed teacher’s name, Miss Ratchett.  
Roger entered the room and cleared his throat.  
Sabrina looked up from her book and groaned.  
“Hey,” said Roger. “Now who’s in the wrong class?”  
“I’m not,” replied Sabrina. “I’m in AP for everything except math and science.”  
“Ha!” cried Roger. “Guess you’re not so smart after all!”  
Her glare told him he’d made a mistake.   
“Uh,” he backtracked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like--”  
“Get away from me,” Sabrina told him.  
He sat directly behind, diagonal from her. He scoots close enough to smell her flowery scent.  
“That’s not far away enough,” she growled.  
“Sure it is,” quipped Roger. “I miss you already.”  
“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  
Boomer and Willie entered the class alongside Doug.  
“Hey, Rog!” The guys clamored for the seats next to and behind Roger.  
“What’s going on?” Roger asked them. “Either one of you have paper?”  
“Sure,” Boomer was happy to oblige.  
“Hey, Doug,” said Sabrina.   
“Hi, Sabrina,” said Doug, sitting next to her. “How’s your day going so far?”  
“Pretty good,” replied Sabrina. “This school is a maze, though.”  
“Tell me about it!”  
Roger, having been poised to draw, instead crumpled the paper in his hand.  
“Uh, Roger?” Boomer seemed concerned. “Are you okay?”  
Roger ignored him. “So how do you two know each other?” he barked, too loudly.  
Doug and Sabrina looked at him.  
“That is really none of your business,” snapped Sabrina.  
“Yeah,” said Doug, with a knowing smirk. “Don’t worry about it.”  
“Good day, everyone,” Miss Ratchett shuffled into the room and shut the door. “Good day.”  
The kids could smell her body odor throughout the room. “My name is Miss Ratchett, I’ve taught science here for thirteen years. I will pass out my syllabus that will illustrate exactly what I expect from all of you, in terms of behavior and progression.”  
Already bored, Roger started drawing a motorcycle on the crumpled paper. He absent-mindedly shoved the class syllabus underneath everything else.  
Boomer leaned over and whispered to Roger, “Hey, Rog, how’d you sleep last night?”  
“Like shit,” said Roger. “We had to move three times.”  
“D’uh, it’s too bad you lost your home,” Willie pointed out.  
“Yeah, Willie,” said Roger through gritted teeth. “It’s too bad.”  
“I have lunch fourth period,” Boomer told him. “I brought some extra we can share.”  
“Thanks, man!” Roger couldn’t help but raise his voice louder. “You’re awesome!”  
“Boys,” snapped Miss Ratchett. “That’s enough!”  
“Sorry,” whispered Boomer.  
Roger started drawing a yacht next to the motorcycle. He remembered the pigs ex-mayor White used to roast on the deck of his yacht and it made Roger’s stomach growl so hard it hurt.  
“Ooh,” he clutched his midsection.  
“Yo,” whispered Boomer. “You alright, Rog?”  
“Huh?” replied Roger. “Uh, yeah, sure, just really hungry.”  
“Really?” asked Willie. “Didn’t you have breakfast?”  
Boomer looked like he wanted to punch the oblivious boy in the face.  
Roger stared at Willie for half a minute before answering. “Yeah, I had steak and eggs, Willie. I had steak, eggs, bacon, cheddar grits, biscuits with gravy, and a goddamn milkshake for breakfast.”  
“Really?” Willie looked confused. “Then why are you so hungry?”  
“I don’t know.”  
The smell of garbage, tobacco, and sweat made the three boys cough. Miss Ratchett slammed her hands on Roger’s desk. “Excuse me. Mister--”  
“Bodingo,” said Roger. The class snickered; Boomer and Willie were beside themselves. “Bobby Bodingo.”  
“Mister Bodingo,” she snarled. “What could we possibly be discussing that’s more important than the shape of our planet?”  
“Meat,” answered Roger. Everyone laughed, including Sabrina. This made Roger smile and sit up straighter.  
“I think you should sit in the back of the room, Mister Bodingo,” said Miss Ratchett. “Away from your friends.”  
“Gladly!” He quickly moved, her odors making his green face even more evergreen. Bliss was the back of the room, by the window.  
“Finally,” said Miss Ratchett. “Peace and quiet. Now, where was I?”  
Roger went back to his drawing. He sketched a rock band performing on the yacht, docked beside the motorcycle, now sitting on a port. He looked up, and tried to get a good view of Sabrina. She was blocked by about five people.   
He looked, and waited for Miss Ratchett to turn her back, before moving to another desk quietly. He could see Sabrina’s hair, but nothing else.   
Miss Ratchett faced the room again. Roger sat back, as if paying attention to the disc-shaped earth drawn on the board. Doug, Sabrina, Boomer, and a bunch of other students had raised hands that were being blatantly ignored.   
Roger craned his head, trying to get a better look at Sabrina’s face and body. He knew he could draw just any hot body, but was determined to make his picture accurate.  
The teacher turned around to draw a dome over the top of the disc. As more students raised their hands, or scratched their heads, Roger made his way to a desk further up, against the wall. Here, he got a full view of Sabrina’s body. He enthusiastically resumed drawing.  
Miss Ratchett said, from the board, “Now, I think Mister Chatterbox can explain it all to you.” She looked in the back of the room for Roger. Puzzled, she called, “Mister Bodingo? Mister Bodingo, are you still here?”  
Roger, not paying attention, didn’t answer.  
All the kids stared at him, snickering.  
Miss Ratchett followed their gaze to stand beside him, putting her arms over her chest.  
The close exposure of her underarms made Roger gag. “Oh, God.” He looked up. “What do you want?”  
“Ooh,” said the class.  
Miss Ratchett snatched the drawing off his desk.  
“No!” he cried.   
But it fell on deaf ears. Miss Ratchett held the drawing up for all the kids to see.   
“What do you think of this?” she asked. “Miss Meercoals?”  
“It’s Miér--” Sabrina stopped. Her big eyes fell on the drawing, and she actually screamed.  
Roger had drawn her on the motorcycle, watching the yacht concert, wearing nothing but a thong, an open leather jacket, and thigh-high boots. It was well-drawn, which only made it a larger problem.  
Doug, Patti, and Boomer all looked away, hiding their blushing faces behind books. Everyone else hooted and whistled.  
Sabrina jumped from her desk and snatched the picture from Miss Ratchett. She yelled at Roger in angry, rapid Spanish, while tearing the picture into tiny little pieces.  
“All done?” the teacher asked her.  
“Sí,” an angry Sabrina slumped back to her desk. Her face hot, she faught back the tears needed to cool down. Patti put a hand on her shoulder, but Sabrina refused to meet eyes with anyone.  
“Good.” Miss Ratchett glowered over Roger. “Maybe a day in ISS will put an end to these shenanigans. Prepare to meet Sargeant Carfield, Mister Bodingo.”  
The class snickered.  
“His name is Roger Klotz!” cried out Sabrina.  
“I will check my attendance sheet myself,” snapped Miss Ratchett. “Thank you, Miss Meercoals.”  
Sabrina put her head in her arms and on her desk, muttering indistinctly.  
Miss Ratchett walked to the front of the room. But instead of checking her attendance sheet, she resumed drawing a solar system of round planets around the dome-covered disc-shaped earth. The students watched with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Only Willie White took eager notes.  
On the back of the class syllabus, Roger wrote Sabrina a note: Hay, sorree 4 bein a dick. Wee kool? He threw it as a plane and it hit her, but she didn’t respond. She kept her head on her desk and in her arms for the rest of class.   
When the bell rang, Miss Ratchett shouted out a list of books to read, but was barely heard over the ruckus of laughter and gossip. Sabrina left before anyone else.  
“Wait, Sabrina!” Roger brushed past Boomer and Willie and pushed Doug out of his way.  
“Mister Bodingo!” Miss Ratchett called after him. “You’ll be hearing from Sargeant Carfield!”  
“His name is Roger Klotz,” Doug told her.  
“Of course, dear.” Miss Ratchett didn’t even look up from her Bible.


	5. Lunch

Roger didn’t lose sight of Sabrina. He pushed through the crowd heading to lunch or study hall.  
“Sabrina!” He caught her by the shoulder. “I’m really, really sorry.”  
She spat in his face, right between the eyes.  
“Yeah, okay,” he acquiesced, taking a bandana out of his jacket pocket. “Okay, I deserved that. You got me. Can we be cool now?” He brought the bandana down from his face; she was gone.  
“Dammit!” Roger sighed. “I need a cigarette.” His stomach growled.   
He followed the droves of students to the cafeteria and looked around. Tables were already crowded with freshmen and sophomores who brought their lunches, claiming seats for their friends. The lines to the food snaked all along the cafeteria.   
The smell of food made Roger’s insides cramp. “God damn it.”  
He scanned the people and found Doug, Patti, Skeeter, and Beebe. He darted for them.  
“Hey, guys,” he said. They stopped talking as he approached. “What’s jiggling?”  
“Your sketches.” Skeeter glared. “Apparently.”  
“I can’t believe you drew that picture during class, Roger!” Patti immediately went on the attack. “What were you thinking?”  
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” quipped Roger. “What I was thinking. You should be mad at that ratchet Ratchett, for showing it to the whole class.”  
“Oh believe me,” Doug cried. “That woman is a piece of work. But you really humiliated Sabrina!”  
Roger got real close to Doug’s face. “That bother you, Funnie?”  
“It bothers all of us,” snapped Patti.  
Beebee looked up from her phone. “What does?”   
“She just moved here,” explained Doug. “All the way from New York.”   
“Then you had to exploit her,” growled Skeeter. “On the first day of school. Kids are already talking.”  
“How the hell do you all know her?” demanded Roger.  
“Her family moved across the street from me,” said Doug.  
“We’ve been hanging out with her all summer,” concurred Patti.  
“Right,” replied Roger. “All summer.” He felt dizzy and already forgot what they were arguing about. “Let me have a bite of that burger.”  
He reached forward, but Skeeter scooted his tray away.   
Beebee laughed. “Are you begging for food now? Oh my God!”  
“Hey,” snapped Roger. “Get off my back.”  
“Are you gonna give me the shirt off it,” shrieked Beebee with delight. “Then buy it back with 14% interest? Or did your mom actually cosign to 20?”  
“Shut up,” growled Roger.  
“Yeah, that mini mall really took off,” continued Beebee. “Straight into backruptcy!”  
Roger tried to shush her, but her mirth was too loud. People stopped their conversations nearby and actually gathered to listen. Like fans of a movie getting excited for the best part.  
“I’ll never forget,” Beebee wiped tears of laughter. “The image of you, being carried out of the house and across the lawn, by four policemen. Four! I have the whole thing on video!”  
Every bystander leaned in closer, with a collective “Ooh…”  
“We’ve seen it, Beebee,” Patti told her.  
“I know.” Beebee held up her phone. “But don’t you want to see it again?”  
“Yes, yes!” chanted the growing crowd.  
“I think,” said Skeeter with a wink. “We should show it to Sabrina.”  
“No!” screamed Roger. “No! Don’t do that!”  
“Yeah,” smirked Patti. “I bet it would make her feel a lot better about today.”  
“She doesn’t have to know about that,” begged Roger. “Please. I just need some lunch.”   
“No way Roger,” said Doug. “You mugged Bobby this morning, somehow got him in trouble for it with you, and now he has a pink slip from a class he wasn’t even in. On top of harassing Sabrina.”  
“Nobody asked you, Funnie,” retorted Roger.  
“You just did,” Doug corrected him. “And I say no.”  
“We all say no,” added Patti.   
“Yeah,” confirmed Skeeter.  
“Um,” Beebee points to her phone. “Video? Anyone?”  
“Fine.” Hunger filled Roger’s entire body; he was tired. “Fine. I’ll figure it out somehow.”  
He stomped outside. Recognizing the courtyard from earlier, he went to the far corner to see if he could find any surviving cigarettes. The bell rang while he rummaged through the dirt, trying to pick out brown leaves amongst the green.  
“Hey, Rog.”   
Roger looked up and saw Ned.  
“Hey,” he replied.  
“Um, whatcha doing?”  
“Looking,” answered Roger. “For any remains of my cigarettes I can save.”  
“Well, shit,” said Ned. “I can just bum you one.”  
“Yes!” Roger shot up. “Thank you!”  
“No prob.” He discreetly passed two cigarettes. “What happened to your pack?”  
“Fucking Coach Penny. She sniffed me out.”  
“Damn, that sucks,” Ned nodded. “But hey man, Pretty Penny!”  
“I know, right?”  
“I mean, wow!”  
“Yeah, it’s so cool.” Roger brought a cigarette to his lips. “It’s like if Flounder came and taught music.”  
“Roger!” Ned smacked the hand that held the lighter. It seemed to bring Roger to his senses.  
“Oh, right.” He put the smoke and lighter back in his pocket. “Man, how can such cool stars come from a place so lame?”  
“They escaped,” said Ned coldly. “So that’s something.”  
“True.” Roger brougth a cigarette up to his lips, then put it down again. “Damnit, I need something to eat! Where’s Boomer?”  
“Boomer?”  
“He said he brought me extra lunch.”  
“Oh. Um, there he is!”   
Boomer came from the other end of the courtyard, followed by Willie. “There you are,” he cried. “I looked everywhere.” He put down his lunchbag and handed Roger a sandwich and apple. “What the hell was that Ratchett? High?”  
“I have no idea,” said Roger, his mouth full of tuna fish, cheddar cheese, and bread. “But she fucking stank. Sabrina hates me now because of her. This sandwich is good!”  
“Thanks,” said Boomer, with a bright smile. He watched Roger eat for a good ten seconds before speaking again. “Um, it’s my own recipe. I actually caught the tuna, while javelin fishing out at Lake--”  
“Sabrina!” Roger’s shout forced the other guys to jump, spilling food and drink on themselves. “Hey! Hey, Sabrina!”  
Standing in the middle of the courtyard with her tray of food, looking lost, Sabrina turned at her name, but frowned when she saw Roger.  
“Hey, Sabrina! You got my apology, right? I said I was sorry.” He ran up to her. “I really am. Let me make it up to you, you can sit with us.”   
Back at the table, Willie fit a nacho chip between the gap in his teeth. Ned threw grapes at it, trying to make them bounce.   
“I’d rather not,” said Sabrina.   
“Come on,” Roger stood closer. “What have you got to lose?”  
“My dignity,” Sabrina replied, scooting away.  
“Leave her alone, Klotz.”   
Connie Benge approached from the crowd. Her clothes were bedecked with chains and mismatched plaid. She had gotten an eyebrow ring, a gray highlight streak in her newly-permed hair, and didn’t seem to care that her curves had gotten their weight back, and then some.  
Roger whistled. “Damn, Connie. You get hotter every year.”  
“Thanks,” said Connie. She turned to Sabrina. “You can sit with me.”  
“Thank you!”   
Sabrina happily followed. So did Roger, until Connie stopped him.  
“No one invited you,” she told him.   
“Not even a little,” concurred Sabrina.  
“C’mon,” pleaded Roger. “I don’t want to miss any kissing.”  
“Then go back to your harem.” Connie gestured to the boys, then turned away, leading a laughing Sabrina to a nearby table.  
“Hey! I don’t swing that way!” He watched them walk away, then said to himself, “Why are mean girls so hot?”  
He went back to his table and ate the guys’ food while they squabbled over a game of battle cards. When the bell rang, they still hadn’t noticed that their food was gone. Rather, they walked in ahead of Roger, still arguing.   
Looking at his schedule, Roger saw he had Language Arts in T building, down the yellow hallway, in room 205-D.  
He turned the paper over, confused. The map showed buildings A, G, and P, but no T.   
Looking up, scanning the campus, he saw a building with T marked on the side, all the way at the other end of the lot.  
“Fuck that,” decided Roger. “I need a smoke.”


	6. Roadside Gas

Roger headed up the school drive to the sidewalk.   
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” a uniformed security guard stopped him. “Where are you headed?”  
“To the store,” replied Roger.  
“Lunch time is over,” said the guard. “It’s time to head back to class.”  
“Fine.” Roger turned and walked back into the nearest building.  
He went out a parking lot side door, and slipped into the woods that surrounded the school. He trudged through trees and rolled down into a mighty ditch, having to use roots to climb back up. He slipped more than once, but made it over and to the side of the main road.  
“Yes!” he cried. “The real world!” He picked sticks out of his hair and started walking to the gas station around the corner.  
The buck-toothed clerk was reading a girly magazine behind the counter. Metal music blared from the speakers, and he ignored every customer, except to ring up their purchase.   
Roger pounded the counter. The clerk, whose name tag read “Gus,” put down his magazine.  
“Good damn!” He shook Roger’s hand with a clap. “How you doin, Klotz?”  
“Not bad,” said Roger. “Had to get away from that school.”  
“No kidding, man.”  
“Teacher destroyed my cigarettes.”  
“No way!” Gus seemed properly disturbed.  
“Way, man.” Roger hung his head, sniffling. “Crushed the whole pack right in front of me.”  
“Well,” said Gus determinedly. “I won’t abide by child abuse! Here.” He plopped a fresh pack of cigarettes on the counter. “Still smoke Bluffinthals, right?”  
“That’s the one!” Roger cheered up immediately. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything on me--”  
Gus waved a hand. “Don’t even mention it! You’ve had some hard times, man, I can relate. Seems everything fell apart once we lost old Fat Jack’s.”  
“Yeah,” said Roger wistfully. “Fat Jack’s Trailer Park. Sure was the best.”   
The two men held an impromptu moment of silence for their lost home.  
“Well,” Roger looked around. “You need some work done around here, man?”  
“Nah,” said Gus. He picked two beers out of the nearby fridge, cracked one open, and gave the other to Roger. “Place pretty much runs itself.”   
Water dripped from random places throughout the rotted ceiling, falling into cups and buckets strategically placed on the shelves and floor. The fridge where Gus had gotten their beers spontaneously sparked, then shut off.  
“Oh, damn.” Gus stared at it for a minute. “Give you fifty bucks to fix that.”  
“Alright!” Roger took a swig of his beer, then started pulling the fridge from the wall.  
“Whoa, man,” said Gus. “I didn’t mean right now. Like, let’s smoke a doobie first.”  
“Maybe after?” asked Roger. “I really need that fifty bucks.” Thinking about money made him think about food, which made him hungry again. “Damn it, why am I so hungry all the time?”  
“Changes,” said Gus, picking his topless magazine back up. “Your body’s going through important changes.”  
“Ugh,” groaned Roger.  
“They’re changes that will shape you,” said Gus wisely, turning the magazine vertical to unleash the centerfold. “You’re a big guy, your body needs a lot of food. It’s nature.”  
Roger grumbled. Behind the fridge, he could see parts melted together. Everything was sticky and dusty. “When was the last time you cleaned back here?”  
“I dunno,” shrugged Gus, not looking away from his centerfold.  
“These parts overheated,” said Roger. “Probably from being so damn dirty. It’s busted!”  
“Bummer,” said Gus. “Well, here’s your fifty bucks.”   
“Thanks,” said Roger.  
“Ready to smoke?” asked Gus.   
“Boy, am I.”   
They went around back, where the air conditioner hummed. Alongside the dumpster was a patio table with an umbrella, flanked by a beach chair, an overturned box, and a stained foldable camping chair.   
Skunky Beaumont was sitting on the beach chair, gazing at the sky.   
“Yo, Skunky.” Roger slapped Skunky’s palm and the two pulled each other in for a quick pat on the shoulder. “What’s jiggling?”  
“Not much, man,” Skunky replied. “Just waiting for school to start.”  
“Um,” said Roger. “Today is the first day.”  
“Oh, shit!” Skunky jumped up, legitimately shocked. “No way! I gotta get going!”  
“Suit yourself.” Gus pulled a self-rolled joint out of his pocket and lit the end.  
Skunky paused, then sat down again.  
Gus smoked some, then passed it. The boys enjoyed the warm sun and cool breeze on their faces, taking turns to escape the world. The sounds of nearby traffic mixed with the shallow forest wildlife stirred a narrative all its own.  
Gus had his magazine with him. The cover girl’s cleavage made Roger think of Sabrina.  
“Man,” he leaned back. “There’s a really hot girl at school.”  
“Oh?” Gus passed him the joint. “She in your class?”  
“One of them, yeah.” Roger took a hit, then passed it to Skunky, coughing. “She, ahem, she hates me, though.”  
“Bummer, man,” Skunky took a hit, then blew out quaint smoke rings. “Is it cool to ask why?”  
“Because,” Roger sighed. “She saw a drawing I did of her. A sexy drawing.”  
“Dude,” Gus chuckled and took the joint.   
“She won’t listen to my apology, though.”  
“Yo, words are cheap, man,” said Gus, trying to hold in his smoke for as long as he could before coughing it out.   
“Yeah,” concurred Skunky. “It was, like, your actions that made her mad. So it’s got to be, like, actions that earn her forgiveness.”  
Roger got an idea mid-smoke. He coughed it out, “Yes! That’s it! A drawing got her mad at me, so a drawing’s going to make her forgive me!”  
“Wait,” Skunky started, but started choking over the smoke.  
“You’re a genius man,” said Roger. “I got to get back to school. Thanks, Gus!”  
“No probs, man,” cried Gus. “Catch you later!” He turned to Skunky. “Shouldn’t you be going too?”  
“Huh?” Skunky was watching two squirrels mate. “School’s back?”  
Gus caught sight of the squirrels. “What?”


End file.
